How i was nearly had
The British journal of photography v.42. September 27, 1895
A well to do man, such as I own myself to be, is encompassed by snares and pitfalls of which the more ordinary being who has to work for his daily bread has no conception. From noon until eve, summer and winter, he is beset with applications for help—help meaning money. His clients are without member and without conscience; there is the embarrassed tradesman in temporary want of 200l. to complete an order, for which he is prepared to deposit security to four times that amount, and to pay cent, per cent, interest into the bargain. There is the dealer in stocks, who offers to make your fortune if you will only give him sufficient “cover.” There are the charities, local and general; the societies for encouraging this and abolishing that; and the varied schemes of fad lists, whose mission on this revolving globe is to turn it inside out.
My thoughts had taken this turn owing to something said to me by my friend Brown. We had dined together at his Club, and were leaning back in luxurious chairs, smoking our cigars and sipping coffee. “By the way,” said he, “I can put you up to a good thing—that is to say, if you want to make a few hundreds easily.”
I had so often been put up to good things, and lost instead of gained by then that did not at once jump at this tempting bait. Here is another pitfall, thought; out, all the same, I asked for details, for I did not want to offend Brown.
“Well, you see,” said he, “I myself don’t know much about the thing except that it has something to do with photography. I must introduce you to my friend Snooker — awfully clever fellow, Snooker! knows a thing or two, I can tell you.”
“And who is Snooker?” I asked.
“Snooker is a financial agent or company promoter. It was he who launched the Metropolitan Electric Mangle Organization Scheme, for turning all the mangles in London with the power developed by the Charing-cross fountains.”
“But, surely,” said I, “that scheme was a failure.”
“From the public point of view, yes; but Snooker and his syndicate netted 35,000l. over the enterprise. Devilish keen hand, Snooker 35,000l.! Just fancy!”
“Has any other great scheme been similarly brought to—ahem success by Mr. Snooker?”
“Oh, yes. There was the Company for carrying Belgian coals to the Tyne. Snooker never said exactly what be cleared out of that liquidation: but I know he bought a fine freehold property at Brighten immediately afterwards, and contributed largely to the local lunatic asylum.”
“In compliment to the shareholders possibly,” said I. “But what,” I asked, getting rather tired of Snooker and his past doings, “can you tell me about tins latest good thing in which your friend is interested?”
“Well, as I said before, I don’t know much about it, but can give you a rough idea of the position of affairs. Pass the matches, please.” With a due amount of stoking and the emission of much smoke, Brown’s tongue at length got to work, and briefly the story of the good thing was this:—
Snooker by some means had unearthed a needy Frenchman, who possessed a wonderful secret process for producing photographic pictures easily and quickly, independent of weather or any of the usual condition attaching to photography. He had installed this Frenchman in rooms in London, where he was producing specimens of his skill. The Frenchman kept his secret rigidly to himself, and there was one room where he did most of the work, a room which was never entered by anyone else. He kept the key of this mysterious chamber, and at intervals brought forth firm it certain plates, which could be made to yield pictures in the common printing press. Snooker, it seemed, was paying this Frenchman a few pounds a week until a company could be floated to exploit his marvellous invention.
I became rather interested in the affair, for I knew something about photography, and I felt enough curiosity about the personality of Snooker to with to be introduced to him. I therefore left Brown to arrange an appointment, and three days afterwards we went together to a demonstration of the new process.
The place was in the heart of the City, up four flights of stairs, each floor having its characteristic small of spice, tea, or other produce. On the topmost door was written, M. Vibort, and, in another minute, we entered, to find ourselves in the presence of the famous Mr. Snooker and three friends, who were introduced to us as Directors of the Vibort Company. Mr. Snooker was tall, with long grey whiskers, and faultlessly dressed. He was evidently the leading spirit, the others having the aspect of respectable City men—mere “guinea pigs.”
The room was a large one, and at the farther end was a door marked “private,” which I rightly conjectured to be the Frenchman’s secret den —of which I had heard so much from Brown. After Mr. Snooker had expatiated upon the wonderful prospects of the process, and the Company formed to exploit it, its simplicity, and so on, he directed my attention to a number of specimen pictures hanging round the walls, and asserted that the plates had all been prepared on the spot and had been printed from in the very press that was standing close by. This was an ordinary lithographic press—a workman standing near it with roller and ink ready to furnish proofs at demand. Mr. Snooker further informed me— I may mention that he was kind enough to address most of his remarks to me personally—that M. Vibort was at that moment in his dark room finishing a fresh plate which would in a few minutes be ready for trial. Almost as he said these words the inner door opened, and M. Vibort—a short man with black hair, standing up like a scrubbing brush — presented himself. He held in his bands a glass plate, which, with a bow such as only a Frenchman can make, he banded to Snooker; and, after each of us had had a look at it, it was given to the printer, who proceeded to roll it up with ink. Snooker ail this time kept on talking of the wonderful simplicity of the process, and compared it with the slow method of printing by the sun’s aid, the advantage a production in printing ink must have in the matter of permanence, and so on. The inking arrangements being completed, a proof was pulled by the printer, and a very good proof it was. Other proofs were printed at intervals of a few minutes, and the demonstration generally may be said to have been successful. At Snooker’s suggestion we now adjourned to a neighbouring hotel, where refreshments were ordered, and we discussed the prospects of the Vibort Company, Snooker doing most of the talking. He produced a draft prospectus, from which it appeared that the capital was fixed at 70,000l., and ended, to my utter surprise, in proposing that I should allow myself to be nominated Managing Director!
Now, some persons would have been flattered by this suggestion of Mr. Snooker’s, but I wasn’t. I knew a little too much of the ways of company promoters of the Snooker type to believe in them, and in a minute pictured to myself Snooker vanishing into space with his pockets full of gold, and the Managing Director left alone to meet the inquiries of impoverished shareholders. Moreover, I had seen enough of his so-called secret method, and knew enough about photographic processes generally to hazard a guess that this one was nothing more nor less than collotype pure and simple; but for the moment I kept my own counsel.
Mr. Snooker, having failed to induce me to become Managing Director, began to sound me as to the amount of money I was prepared to invest in the Company, a question which I parried by asking how much the Frenchman was to have out of the 70,000l., and how much Mr. Snooker himself was to receive. I also asked some other awkward questions regarding the disposal of this large amount of money, but could get no direct answer to them from Snooker, who gradually dropped his politeness, and lost his manners as well as his temper. Things came to a head when I ventured to assert that I knew how to produce pictures like those he had shown me, without the purchase of any secret process, and hinted pretty broadly that the whole thing was a fraud. We parted in anger, and I have seen neither Snooker nor Brown since. The Vibort Company’s shares, I may mention, are not yet quoted on the Stock Exchange.
MORAL.—”A little knowledge is (not always ) a dangerous thing.”